


Quick

by rockstarpeach



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cockblock Sam, Comfort Sex, M/M, Needy Dean, Romance, Schmoop, Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockstarpeach/pseuds/rockstarpeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during early S8. It's not easy for Dean and Cas to get some time alone together, without being interrupted.  It's been way too long and Dean's starting to get desperate, so it becomes sort of a mission.  Sort of angsty, sort of schmoopy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quick

Dean is obviously uncomfortable with him.

He’s made that perfectly clear with the calculating looks, the formal distance and the completely out of character heart to heart he’d attempted. It’s all completely understandable, of course. Dean gave him up for dead, Dean blames _himself_ for that and he strongly suspects that Dean would have traded places with him in a heartbeat if he could have.

It’s guilt, it’s sorrow, it’s a reminder of a time Dean wants to bury but can’t.

He’s nervous, he’s tense, he’s unreasonably aggressive and he’s spent more time than usual just… staring. At Castiel, at the wall, at his own hands.

He’s also obviously in great need of sexual gratification.

Castiel doesn’t know why, but he’s surprised by that. It’s been a while, he knows that. And even while they were together in Purgatory, they didn’t manage to find much time for each other, not that way.

He’d figured one of the first things Dean would do after coming back (once he’d released Benny and looked up Sam) would be to find some company. Dean has never been one to bury his troubles in women, but Dean has changed a great deal in the past year and thinking Castiel lost for good might have been all the justification he needed.

So yes, the sudden ferocity of Dean’s need surprises him.

Still, he can’t help but respond wholeheartedly when Dean pins him down to the bed. When he slots between Castiel’s thighs and pushes _pushes_ forward, like he’ll die if he doesn’t press every single inch of his body against every single inch of Castiel’s.

“Cas…” Dean pants, lips closing over the lobe of Castiel’s ear. He licks and bites, too sharp, too hard. Castiel doesn’t flinch, just bares his neck for more, arches into it with a softly drawn in breath. “You stupid son of a bitch. You…”

This is how Dean deals. He blames Castiel when he still believes it’s all his fault. He says he’s sorry with a fist pulling tight in Castiel’s hair and his fingertips digging bruises into Castiel’s hipbones.

Right now, Castiel would like nothing more than to let him. It wouldn’t be the first time the sex between them would be laced with anger, a fine edge of desperation driving the lust. That’s what he plans on doing, too. He wrenches his head from Dean’s grip, cranes his neck to take Dean’s mouth in a bruising kiss, too much teeth and too much force, just the right amount of both.

He hooks his leg over the back of Dean’s, holds him close so they don’t stop grinding, don’t stop rolling together, all hard muscle and angles of bone and he works to unfasten Dean’s belt. His fingertips brush against the tip of Dean’s erection through his underwear, cotton wet already, sticky.

Dean bucks and sucks in a gasp. He groans and he slows, his kisses turn softer, less competition, less contrition. More easy lust, more ‘I’ve missed you’, less ‘I’m sorry’. That doesn’t matter, though. All that matters is Dean needs this, regardless of the reasons.

And so does Castiel.

He licks slowly over the top of Dean’s tongue and pushes past the elastic waist of his boxers. Dean pulls back enough that Castiel can start to work them down, just enough for the tip of Dean’s hard cock to poke through.

And then Dean swears, punches the pillow lightly beside Castiel’s head and he’s gone, standing by the table with his cock hanging out, talking on his phone.

“What?” he asks, snaps almost, even though it’s not Sam’s fault, not really. It’s not like he knew what they were doing. About to do. “Right now? Can’t it wait? Jesus, fine. Okay. I said okay!”

He snaps his phone shut and tucks himself back in, turns to Cas and doesn’t say anything.

Castiel doesn’t either. He just offers a small smile, nods and leaves.

They’ll have plenty of time to… catch up.

***

Dean is doing… better. Which is funny, considering Castiel is doing so much worse. There’s a mess inside his head now, memories fuzzy and blended, stolen and false. 

He can’t go home, not back to Heaven, not after what he did. He can’t be with Dean and Sam either, there’s something… he doesn’t know. They’re not safe with him.

Sometimes it’s okay, sometimes it’s _good_. He tries to atone, little things, not so little to the people he helps, but not nearly enough.

Sometimes he forgets, though, for a minute, for a nanosecond. When he sees the smile on a haggard mother’s face when her infant’s pain finally stops, he forgets. When he feels the relief and gratitude of a little boy when his lost dog comes home, he forgets.

When he looks at Dean, when he feels Dean’s hand on the back of his neck, feels Dean’s lips against the hard line of his cheekbone, he forgets.

He can’t stay with Dean, but he can’t stay away. 

***

“Listen, Cas,” Dean is saying, shucking out of his shoes and tossing his suit jacket over the chair. They’ve just got back to the motel room, they’re waiting for Sam to get back from some follow-up interviews at the retirement home, and it’s the first time they’ve been alone together in over a month. “You know I appreciate your help and everything, right? Sam and I, we really do like having you around.”

Castiel cocks his head to the side. Of course he knows that.

“Of course,” he answers.

“Good. Okay, so. The thing is, I haven’t been laid in… well, you were there. You know how long it’s been. And you’re not around much these days and when you are, we don’t exactly have a lot of time, so I hope you don’t mind if I just jump straight to the part where we get naked. I hope you won’t think I’m just… that that’s all I want you around for.”

Castiel wouldn’t be able to think that if God himself told Castiel it was so.

“Of course not. And no, I… don’t mind.”

“Good,” Dean says, a sigh of relief as he pulls Castiel in by the lapels of his coat and swings him around to toss him down on the bed. He jumps on top of him then, knees on either side of Castiel’s hips on the mattress and he smiles down at him. “Because I’m workin’ on a mean fuckin’ case of blue balls, man. And don’t tell anyone, but when you go all _Colombo_ , with that stupid fuckin’ coat and that stupid fuckin’ voice, it only makes it worse.”

There would have been a time when Castiel wouldn’t have understood a word that Dean just said, but he’s watched a lot of television in the past few years. He’s also spent so much time with, and watching, Dean, that he’s a lot more fluent.

So he just smiles back up, half a smile, really. The kind he uses when he’s amused himself, but nobody else thinks he’s funny, and says, “I apologise. Please, allow me to help you with your little… problem.”

Dean laughs then, when Castiel flips them, cups his hand flat over the significant bulge in Deans pants.

“Damn,” Dean breathes out. He’s still smiling, only now it’s a little strained. He tilts his hips, pushes more into Castiel’s touch and his legs fall open even wider. “Yeah, you… you go ahead and help me out, Cas. Ngh. Yeah.”

Castiel doesn’t even get as far as he did last time, doesn’t even get Dean’s belt unbuckled, before they’re interrupted. 

“Damnit, Sam!” Dean groans, hips jerking forward to chase Castiel’s hand when he starts to pull back. “Wait, don’t… I don’t have to get that.”

“Yes, you do,” Castiel counters. “It could be important.”

“Cas…” Dean whines, when Castiel pushes off and begins to stand. He reaches out half-heartedly with one hand to hook a finger through one of Castiel’s belt loops, so that he’s at least still sitting on the bed next to Dean. With the other hand he gropes in his pocket for his phone. 

“You suck,” he grumbles, before he puts the phone to his ear and says, “What do you got?”

He sighs as he rolls out of bed and flips open his laptop, exchanges a few words with Sam as he types.

“You’re not off the hook, by the way,” Dean says, glancing at Castiel after he hangs up the phone. He’s still at his computer though, writing some things down now on the notepad on the table next to it, so Castiel thinks he probably _is_ off the hook. It’s a shame, because these past few minutes with Dean, Castiel has felt happier than he’s been in years.

“I suppose I’ll go… meet up with Sam.”

“Yeah, cool,” Dean says, but whatever information Sam just gave him must have been pretty good, because he’s got that look, back a little straighter, eyes a little brighter, like he’s on the verge of something. It looks good on Dean. “But seriously, Cas. Next time, we’re gonna fuck, even if it has to be a quickie in a diner bathroom.”

Dean Winchester, ever the romantic. 

***

Sex in a diner bathroom turns out not to be the best plan Dean's ever had.

Dean prays to him out of the blue one day, not ‘I need you’, not ‘We’ve got this case’, not ‘Please, help’. Not anything Castiel typically hears, when either of the Winchesters call. Castiel is in Bangladesh, saving an elderly woman from drowning when suddenly Dean’s inside his head, smirking and smarmy, thinking _Hey, Sammy and I just ordered. Probably got ten minutes ‘til the food comes. You wanna?_.

Castiel smiles to himself, secures the woman in a life jacket and meets Dean in the bathroom.

There’s not enough time for Dean to do more than yank him into the stall and kiss him up against a suspect looking wall, before the creak of the door swinging open stops them. Well, it’s not so much the door; Dean doesn’t seem to care about that.

It’s the shuffle of two sets of feet, the voice of a little boy saying “I think there’s two people in that one, Daddy,” that causes Dean to flinch back far enough that he hits his head on the other stall wall.

He swears as he hits his shin on the toilet bowl and he turns bright red in the low light when the father mumbles something about coming back later and the door opens and closes again.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea,” Dean admits, when they’re alone again. Maybe it wasn’t such a _hot idea_ at two in the afternoon, anyway. “You should probably…”

He makes a vague motion with his hand, which Castiel assumes means he should leave the same way he came. It’s probably a good idea, even though he finds he _would_ like to stay for a while and watch Dean eat, so he nods. Dean’s probably going to be embarrassed enough walking back out into the diner alone.

“Soon though, okay?”

“Yes, Dean,” he answers. “Soon.”

Dean leans in and kisses him once more before Castiel flies away.

***

“The fact that you’re in the shower helps,” Castiel says, raising his voice so it vibrates through the hard plastic of the curtain and the steady thump of the water drops. “But your brother is just around the corner. We won’t have enough time.”

“We will if you get your ass in here!” Dean growls. Castiel can hear his hand slap flat on the tile wall, hear his forehead plunk dully against the space between his thumb and his forefinger. “Damnit, Cas, it’s not my fault we haven’t had five friggin’ minutes alone together in _months_. Get in and hurry the hell up. I’m _so_ ready to go.”

They won’t have enough time, Castiel’s almost sure of it. Sam is pulling into the parking lot even now, but that doesn’t stop Castiel from stepping into the shower anyway, clothes and all. He crowds up behind Dean, wraps an arm around his waist and even through the hot water falling down on them, Dean shivers.

He tilts his head back and turns slightly, presses a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to the side of Castiel’s neck and then he falls to his knees. He’s got Castiel pinned to the wall with his cock in Dean’s mouth before Castiel even realises what’s going on. This isn’t how this goes, not right now. Castiel loves Dean, he loves to be with Dean and he _does_ need this, he just… Dean needs it more, and they don’t have time for both.

“Dean,” he croaks out, but Dean only sucks him down harder, faster, with his palm cupping Castiel’s balls and the tips of two fingers playing at his rim. Castiel’s knees buckle and he jerks his hips, stuffs himself deeper into Dean’s throat.

It’s good. It’s _so good_ , but the motel room door opens, slams shut. Sam’s back and there just _isn’t time_.

“Dean, please, let me…” But he doesn’t get any further than that, because Sam’s shouting out, “Dean?” and Dean swallows around his shaft and _sucks_ and Castiel’s spilling out over Dean’s tongue and down his throat.

“Hey, Dean?” It’s Sam again, this time his voice is louder, still muffled and he’s knocking on the bathroom door. “I gotta take a piss, man. I’m coming in.”

“’Kay,” Dean answers, after he’s pulled back enough so Castiel slips free. His voice is rough, fucked out. The bathroom door opens and Dean stands, puts one hand flat over Castiel’s mouth, as if Castiel is going to start a conversation at a time like this. 

He frowns at Dean and Dean rolls his eyes, shrugs and takes his hand away.

Dean winces when they hear the sound of Sam’s stream hitting the toilet water and Dean leans in, presses his lips to Castiel’s ear.

He doesn’t talk. He prays.

_Good enough, I guess. Next time, though? Show up without pants. Maybe we can squeeze me in._

And then Dean’s laughing into Castiel’s shoulder at his own bad joke.

The toilet flushes and Dean stands up straight, smiles and brushes the pad of his thumb over Castiel’s cheek.

_Soon_ , he mouths.

Sometimes, like when his clothes are drenched through and a cheap motel shower is plastering his hair against his forehead and water is dripping over his eyelashes to blur his vision, nothing else matters.

Sometimes, like when Dean’s hand is warm on his face and the water sluicing over Dean’s skin catches the light and shadows, Castiel is happy.

Sometimes, like when Dean smiles at him like that, romantic love is more than just an abstract concept.

***

“Hurry,” Dean says, pretty much the second Castiel shows up. The word sneaks out like a ghost over his lips to catch on the shell of Castiel’s ear when he leans in close. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

Castiel’s late, that’s true. He was busy when Dean called, four dolphins caught a tuna net off the coast of Florida, and he couldn’t get away at first.

Dean steps even closer into Castiel’s space and the fist he loosely curled into Castiel’s shirt grips tighter, yanks him flush against Dean. 

“Dean…” Castiel warns, doing his best to step back. He’d love nothing more than to see this through, but he’s later than he should have been. There’s really not enough time. Dean’s arm is around his waist now though, stopping him from getting too far. “We don’t…”

“ _Cas_ ” Dean hisses. He stuffs his hand down Castiel’s pants, no ceremony at all, just his huge, calloused paw wrapped around Castiel’s flaccid cock and then Dean grunts, that sound of frustration and impatience that Castiel finds way too cute for his own good. “Fine. Just do me then.”

Dean’s hand is gone from his pants, then. He grabs hold of Castiel’s wrist and shoves it between his legs, Castiel’s fingers brushing up against the hard outline of Dean’s denim-covered cock.

“There isn’t…” Cas protests, the _time_ he was going to finish with dying on his lips when Dean’s cock jumps under his touch and Dean groans, bucks his hips forward. He’s always been so very bad at saying _no_ to Dean, but there really _isn’t_ time.

Sam hadn’t taken as long at the diner as Dean obviously expected. In fact, he’s back already. Castiel heard the car pull up a few seconds ago, but Dean’s obviously too distracted.

Castiel can’t help but press his hand against Dean just a little bit harder, just a _little_ bit, but then the tumblers in the lock turn over and the door opens and Sam walks in.

“Hey, Dean I got you… Oh, Jesus! Couldn’t you at least, I don’t know, go into the bathroom or something?”

Because that worked out so well, last time.

Castiel steps back and this time Dean lets him go, sighs and rubs his hand over his face.

“Son of a bitch,” he mumbles. “The _one_ time he takes less than an hour picking out the perfect mangoes or what the fuck ever. Was the organic farmer’s market closed?”

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Sam snaps, tossing Dean’s food down on the table, grease leaking through the bottom of the brown paper bag, turning it dark and translucent. “Uh… hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel says, nodding once before he vanishes.

He can hear Dean cursing him from halfway across the world, less than a second later, but now is obviously not a good time for intimate relations. Besides, he has a busload of children to save from going over a bridge, in Spain.

***

“The fuck is going on?” Dean mumbles, half asleep when Castiel sits down next to him on his bed, shakes him gently and presses two fingers to his temple.

Dean blinks and they’re somewhere else. 

The room isn’t big, but it’s big enough. There’s a bed, which is important. It’s a _nice_ bed, king sized, with soft sheets and there’s beer in the fridge and burgers on the table. A whole bowl full of cheeseburgers, because Dean always gets hungry after sex. And before. And during.

“Fucking…” Dean says, as he looks around, blinking awake. “Cas. Tell me we’re not back in fucking Van Nuys.”

“Where?”

“This looks a whole lot like that shithole Zachariah holed me up in. ‘S creepy.”

Castiel looks around as well, thinks the room looks fairly plain, but the detailing is beautiful.

“You don’t like it?” It shouldn’t hurt his feelings, but it does. He made this for Dean. He made this place, this time, for them to be together. And it wasn’t easy.

“The burgers are kind of freakin’ me out,” Dean admits. They’re gone in an instant.

“We haven’t had time,” Castiel says. “I made time.”

Dean takes a second before he responds, sits up straighter on the bed and there’s that hand again, on Castiel’s cheek. It’s officially his favourite thing.

“Wow. You like… literally _made_ time? For me?”

Castiel would do anything at all within his power for Dean. He’d do most things that aren’t, if he could get his hands on the right tools. He tells Dean so.

“You know you're fucking amazing, right?” Dean asks him. And Dean doesn’t look anywhere but straight into Castiel’s eyes when he asks, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blush.

“The sentiment is very much returned,” Castiel tells him. “Now…”

“Now?” Dean asks, smiling and lunging forward, teeth closing over Castiel’s lower lip while one hand lifts up his shirt and slips under the top of his pants. “Now you take your pants off and get your dick in my mouth.”

It’s with a monumental effort that Castiel takes hold of Dean’s wrist, forces Dean back onto the bed and pins said wrist down next to his head.

“Now,” Castiel nearly growls, feeling aggressive and ferocious and things he doesn’t normally feel when in a sexual situation with Dean. It feels strange. It feels _good_. “Now, you’re going lie back, _shut up_ and take your blow job like a man.”

“I’m gonna…” Dean starts, head coming up off the mattress just enough to see Castiel yank his pants down. He falls back again when Castiel’s tongue comes out and licks a smooth swipe over Dean’s slit. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, I’m gonna. I’m gonna do… that.”

Castiel isn’t good at this. He's only done it a handful of times, but each and every time he has, Dean’s acted like it was the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Below the waist, as Dean puts it.

This time is no exception. 

In fact, this time, Dean’s even more enthusiastic. 

There’s Dean’s hand on the back of his head, Dean’s fingers tangled in his hair. There’s Castiel’s mouth opening, tongue flattening to let Dean’s thick length inside. There’s Castiel sucking slightly, his cheeks hollowing as he works his tongue up and down in uncomfortable patterns and there’s Castiel holding back a cough when he actually _blows_ a little bit.

There’s Dean laughing above him, Dean’s hand gripping tighter. There’s Dean, knowing what he wants. There’s Dean knowing what they _both_ want. There’s Dean cupping Castiel’s cheeks in both his hands, there’s Dean looking down at him in more reverence than Castiel could ever deserve.

There’s a tear down the side of Dean’s face and there’s Dean humping forward, forward, stilted little jerks so it’s not too much. There’s Castiel laughing, coughing again and Dean laughing himself, fucking harder, deeper down Castiel’s throat.

He knows this was for Dean. All this… it was because Dean needed it, because Dean’s been lonely, desperate, because he’s been needing Castiel. He knows that, but he doesn’t feel the least bit selfish when he enjoys it every bit as much.

Dean’s howl – yes, that’s right, Dean _howls_ \- is both a source of pride and a signal of Castiel’s own demise. The taste of Dean’s spend on his lips sends a misfire to his brain, makes it think, somehow, that it’s Castiel’s orgasm.

His body responds in kind, he comes all over the foot of the bed with the taste of Dean in his mouth. It should feel wrong, but it doesn’t.

It feels perfect.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” he says, once he’s finishes swallowing. “I didn’t mean to… this was about you.”

“It’s not ever about just one, Cas. And fuck you, if that’s what you think. Because that was the hottest thing… I’m not even kidding. I’ve had bendy nights and slippery nights and twisted nights. But that was the single hottest thing to ever happen to me. Jesus, Cas. An _angel_ jizzed all over himself just from sucking me off. Dude, I can die happy.”

Castiel manages to get his limbs to cooperate enough that he can crawl up Dean’s body to lie next to him and he says, “I hope that won’t be for a long while.”

Dean doesn’t say anything to that, just catches Castiel’s mouth in a lazy kiss. It’s all lax jaw and slow tongue, easy bites and warm, warm lips.

“How much more time we got?” Dean asks, when they finally break free. “You know. In the _Pleasure Dome_?”

“As much as you need,” Castiel answers.

And he means it.

END


End file.
